A Woven Thanks
by McGinnis INC
Summary: Because Snape deserved at least one student who could see some good in him. One-shot. Kind of SnapexOC, if you squint really hard.


**Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize.**

**A/N: I've been spending tons of time crocheting a blanket and this idea of Snape receiving a scarf was just circling around in my head. Last night, that muse bit me and this is what came out of it. It's kind SnapexOC, if you squint. Mostly a student/teacher relationship.**

**The poem is _Country Doctor _by: Inez George Gridley**

**Enjoy.**

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><p>A Woven Thanks<p>

By: Ginny

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><p>Severus Snape was a prickly, loveless git. Everyone knew that. It wasn't something whispered in the corridors, it was spoken openly, plainly. And you would be hard-pressed to find a student in the entire school who hadn't at least overheard conversations with Snape's misdeeds mentioned. Snape knew that he was in fact, a royal git and a terrible bastard so the discussions rarely bothered him.<p>

Maybe that was why Miss Watterson was such an unusual circumstance.

One day during a particularly grueling class, the professor was steaming over a mess caused by one Mr. Neville Longbottom. This mess managed to seep over the side of the cauldron, down onto the lab table and ooze its way to the floor before the idiot had even noticed.

If Snape hadn't been so busy scolding Mr. Potter for talking a wee bit too much with his favorite redhead partner and threatening the removal of house points, he would have noticed that Longbottom had yet again gone astray.

But he didn't.

And with feet twice their normal size, Longbottom was escorted up to the infirmary by Miss Granger while Snape paused the slimy mess and demanded his students cap their final potion and turn them into his desk before scurrying out of the room. Now that they had left and he had some time to clean up his classroom he swiped his wand in the air a few times and the liquid disappeared.

"I never get tired of seeing that," a voice commented nonchalantly behind him.

The professor whirled around, totally unaware that he had company. At the familiar face, he relaxed – but only marginally. It was never a good idea to let down one's guard, even in front of a student… especially if that student was one of his own snakes. This particular snake stood hovering in the middle aisle, her book bag still slung over her shoulder.

"Get tired of seeing what, Miss Watterson?" Snape allowed, pinching the very bridge of his nose and stalking back to his desk to put away the other class' vials. His patience was rather thin and speaking civilly, even with one of his N.E.W.T students, was not on his list of things to do.

Yes, the girl was typically early to his class, ever since she was a first year student, but she was a quiet girl that kept herself in the farthest table back and she was notoriously timid. Not the kind of traits a Slytherin typically possessed, but as there never seemed to be trouble between her and any of her other housemates, Snape had never seen reason to question her silent personality. Now, however, he did. This was the first time in seven years she had dared to speak up. If Snape wasn't such an experienced, world-learned and busy man, he might have actually been curious about her sudden talkative nature. At this moment however, it was a mere annoyance – especially when he had so many other things to do.

"Magic," she replied in a hushed voice. "I'm muggleborn, you know. When I see a mess like that my first thought is, "Oh, I'm gonna need a lot of towels". But you, you just wave your wand and clean it all up and suddenly I remember I'm a witch, sir."

Snape finished removing the vials from his desk and tucked them safely in a small box that he would later bring to his own lab to test them out. He was really only half-listening to the girl. "Yes, Miss Watterson, you are a witch. You will do well to remember it." The words might have come out a little harsher than necessary because the girl flinched.

The professor allowed himself one moment to feel some kind of remorse before he sat down at his desk and tried to focus on more pressing issues. His next class should arrive within the next ten to fifteen minutes. Would that allow him enough time to grade some essays? Sighing, Snape reminisced about a time before he had to bother with Order events and Death Eater revels and teaching a stupid little boy how to close his mind against the Dark Lord. Yes, there was once a time when he had the freedom to grade the dunderheads assignments and still enjoy a glass of wine before bed. Now, not so much.

He was dimly aware, through the fog of his own thoughts, that the girl had retreated back to her desk in the very last row and was pulling out her supplies.

_The doctor was an angry man._

_It was a common sight_

_To see him leave his lighted door_

_To battle in the night._

It was three months before they spoke again.

It was a better day for Snape, no explosions, no trouble, no nothing. It was a N.E.W.T class, thank God, the only group of students who could return to him some sanity. Those lovely standardized tests had managed to weed out all the true imbeciles and left him with some of the most competent and serious students Hogwarts had to offer.

Snape stood up from his desk and was just preparing to leave when a lone individual slumping in the aisle caught his attention.

Now, see, Snape was used to the girl arriving early… not staying late. In fact, he had always assumed she was just an impatient kind of a person and showed up early to every class. So, staying late after potions was rather odd.

"Do you need something, Miss Watterson?" the professor inquired, staring down at her. The height difference was rather remarkable.

The girl squirmed under his gaze and glanced almost forlornly at the door. Ah, it seemed that she really had no true desire to be here, but she was forcing herself to communicate with her intimidating professor. And suddenly, the potion's master's interest was piqued – when a student willing stayed after to speak with him, there were pressing matters abound.

Finally the girl stopped fiddling with her sleeves and met his eyes, "I need help on my midterm project, sir."

And… the professor was disappointed. The girl was in his N.E.W.T class, but the midterm project was infamous for being the most difficult part of the entire curriculum, just as Snape had designed it. A student asking for help was not unheard of (even if that meant dealing with him outside of class – heaven forbid), but never this early – as the project had only been assigned last week. And normally the students asked their peers for help before subjecting themselves to the mind-torture working with the evil, git of a teacher would bring.

"Surely your classmates could provide you assistance," Snape suggested, crossing his arms.

The girl followed his movements, and hesitated at the image it projected – apparently the girl was sensitive to body language. "I've already tried that, sir," she explained.

He prompted, "And they were of no help? Surely Mr. Kindel would be competent enough to help you solve any of your difficulties," Snape suggested, mentioning one of his brightest Slytherin pupils.

"Kindel is a purity snob," she said, by means of an explanation.

Snape raised an eyebrow; most of Slytherin were purity snobs.

The girl seemed to notice that her explanation wasn't enough (the raised eyebrow was always a sign to backtrack), "I'm a muggleborn," she said.

Somewhere in the back of his mind, Snape remembered her saying that before. Typically Slytherin was composed of pure or half bloods. But it wasn't unheard of for a muggleborn to slip in there every once in a while. Snape always made sure to find out who was muggleborn, and monitor them, lest they become the victim of any cruel deeds by their housemates. As the girl had never managed to draw much attention to herself, the other Slytherins left her alone and she had apparently fallen off his radar. Now this inattention had come back to bite him in his pasty white ass.

"And he refuses to work with you," Snape concluded. "Then what about Miss Harper?" he listed a rather bright Gryffindor, even though it pained him to say it.

The girl dropped her gaze to the floor and began fiddling with her sleeves again. "Harper is a Gryffindor," she explained. Ah, there was that raise eyebrow again – "I'm a Slytherin."

"And she refuses to work with you," Snape concluded once again. Mentally he ran through every other possible candidate that might work – there was maybe a Ravenclaw boy who would suit her, but he had never been any good at thermo-potions, which, if he recalled correctly, was the topic of Miss Watterson's project. And so, that left the professor himself. The same professor who was already juggling nearly five other full-time jobs and had several other students to babysit. He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. And this day had started out so well…

"You seem to have quite the problem, Miss Watterson," he murmured, mostly to himself. The girl, however, did manage to hear it.

"_I_ don't have the problem, professor," she clenched her fists as her voice grew. Apparently she had been holding this in for a while – or she was more frustrated with the situation than she had originally let on. "Kindel has the problem – just because no one else in my family can do magic. And his problem makes the rest of us look bad so now Harper has a problem, too. It's stupid – just because I'm a mudblood, I get –"

"_Don't_ say that word in my presence!"

The girl gave a yelp and recoiled like the snake she supposedly was. It seemed she didn't realize that he wasn't angry at her – that his anger was terribly misplaced.

"Sorry, professor," she mumbled and grabbed her books, fleeing for the door as fast as she could manage. She nearly tripped twice.

It wasn't until she was almost at the door that Snape's voice made her pause, "I'll meet you here after dinner tomorrow to answer your questions about your project."

Slowly, her footfalls paused and she turned around. The shy girl flashed him a soft smile and gave a slight nod before she walked out of the classroom. She was barely down the hall when his next class arrived.

_He fought the storms, he fought the roads,_

_His daily chore was strife._

_He had a running feud with Death_

_That lasted all his life._

Two months later, she was the first to arrive at class and she happily bounced up to the front of the room, handing Snape her essay and the required vial that completed her project. With his help, she would surely get a good grade. Also, Snape noted, the increased exposure to his characteristically intimidating presence had given her a sense of ease around him. He wasn't sure he liked it. Typically, he preferred his students shaking in fear.

When she hesitated in front of his desk, he glanced up from the papers he had been reading when she arrived. "Yes, Miss Watterson?"

The girl quickly glanced back at the doorway, this time not in hopes that the door might magically swoop down and steal her away, but instead to check if anyone was arriving, even this early. When she deduced that the coast was clear, she turned back to Snape.

"Sir," she began, "is it true that You-Know-Who is back?"

Snape looked down his nose at her. Her only reaction was to give a loud gulp – some habits were hard to break, it seemed.

"Why do you ask that, Miss Watterson?" he placed the papers down on his desk, sensing the need for his full attention on this girl.

"Well," her gaze dropped to her lap as she let the tidal wave of words loose, "Harry Potter says he fought You-Know-Who and that he killed Cedric Diggory and even though the Ministry and professor Umbridge – especially Umbridge – say it's nothing to worry about and Harry Potter is just making things up, I don't know why Harry Potter would lie. And I know that You-Know-Who wants to kill all the muggleborns and I was just worried." She glanced up at her stony-faced teacher. "Should I be worried?"

There were many things Snape could have said to her.

Some of his Slytherin students had come knocking, also inquiring about the return of the Dark Lord. These were the students who didn't have direct family involved with the Death Eaters (those that did needed no verification about the resurrection of their Lord) and who were curious about the opportunities the Dark Side could present to them. Of course there were rumors (not unfounded, of course) that Snape was a Death Eater, or at least a former Death Eater, so he was the first logical person to go to. But this girl didn't need a subtle hint to not question him further as his patience might run out.

This girl needed reassurance that the Dark Lord wasn't going to sneak into the dudgeons one night and kill her in her sleep. This girl needed a reason to believe that her muggle parents and siblings weren't at risk. He could have said something like, "It will all be okay, there is nothing to worry about," or "You aren't worthy enough to catch the Dark Lord's eye, you'll be safe," or even, "The Dark Lord isn't as concerned about muggleborns as he is about muggles".

Instead he chose, "You are a competent young witch, Miss Watterson. There is no need for you to worry yourself too deeply about the Dark Lord."

Nodding, slowly at first, this did seem to quell the girl's fear. She smiled and thanked him, then returned to her seat, just in time for some of the students to start filing in.

_Sometimes Death raced him up the branch_

_And beat him to a shack;_

_But sometimes when Doc hollered, "Wait!"_

_Life fluttered and came back._

Severus Snape was infamous for securing his possessions quite soundly. Keys and locks were essential, but magic was the true seal under which all of his _things_ were stored. His private rooms were well guarded, his office was jinxed against all those dunderheads who thought it might be a good idea to sneak into the room and perhaps peruse the shelves filled with rare potions material. And after that fateful thievery by Mr. Potter, Severus' ingredient closet was well guarded.

Indeed, Professor Snape was infamous for securing his possessions. This, everyone knew.

So, when on the last day of the school year, he entered his classroom to give it one last check-over before he left for a short respite at his family home, he was more than surprised to find a package sitting on his desk.

He was certain he had warded the room before leaving the day before and so to find that little present on his desk was not only surprising, but a little frightening. Who could have gotten through the wards and into his classroom? Who would have had strong enough magic to break through that kind of defense?

Flicking his wand over the present, he assured himself that it wasn't booby-trapped (therefore being from a disgruntled ex-student who had graduated and felt some justice was in order now that he or she couldn't get in trouble – at least by the school… Snape had his own way of dealing with this kind of thing) or had any trace of magic on it at all, in fact. With another flick, the note that lay on top of it flew up to his eye level and opened on its own accord. The note was written in loopy, feminine script:

_Dear Professor Snape,_

_No, I was not talented enough to get through your wards – I asked Professor Dumbledore to help. He was very nice about it, in fact. I think he liked the fact that a student would show you appreciation in the form of a present… apparently that doesn't happen all that often with you – I wonder why._

Snape scoffed lightly under his breath to hide a chuckle.

_Anyway, this is a small token of my thanks for all the help you have given me my seven years here at Hogwarts. I already have a job lined up at the Ministry, working with thermo-potions, and I do believe your teaching is the only thing that would have gotten me there._

_If you're as paranoid as the rest of the Slytherin house was convinced you are, I'm assuming you checked whether the gift had any magic involved. I was worried that if I put on a warming charm, you would simply sense the magic and obliterate the parcel. Or, think that the charm was covering up some other magic and it was all just a trick, so you'd obliterate it anyway. So no, there is no warming charm – but I'm certain you're competent enough to put your own on it without too much difficulty. I even made it myself – no magic whatsoever. My housemates had a good laugh watching me crochet it by hand, but I think it makes it a little more personal. And it keeps you from obliterating it… I guess being muggleborn has its perks. _

_Anyways, thank you again for all you've done._

_Sincerely, _

_Miss Watterson _

Snape gently folded the note and placed it next to the box. The girl was right – students almost never gave him gifts, though it was customary for seventh years to hand out trinkets to their teachers before leaving. Plucking at the curly green ribbon on top of the box, he opened his present to reveal a black and green striped scarf. The fabric wasn't terribly good quality, he noted as he rubbed the end of it between his long fingers, but at least she got the colors right.

_So many times he rolled his sleeves_

_And waded in the fray._

_Because of that good angry man_

_I am alive today._

It was this same scarf Snape wore when, almost two years later, he was preparing to go clear his head near the lake. A light tapping echoed against his window. He crossed the room, impatiently, and allowed the creature access to the room.

An owl came fluttering into the headmaster's office – his office, now, he reminded himself and dropped a list of recent war casualties on the headmaster's desk – his desk.

Scrolling through the names, one in particular stood out, written in scrammed smudges:

_Madge Watterson._

Snape carefully folded the parchment, placed it on Dumbledore's desk and tied the scarf around his neck just a little bit tighter. Then he left, barely missing a step.

_Fin_


End file.
